“You play! Well, then you was a sort of a gentleman of leisure, ain't you? Well, dot must be pretty good fun—to play all day. Well, Bubby, you ever go to New York?”
“No, sir; I've never been in New York. Do you live in New York, sir?”
“Yes, Bubby, I live in New York when I'm at home. But I'm shenerally on the road, like I was to-day. I'm what you call a trummer; a salesman for Krauskopf, Sollinger & Co., voolens. Here's my card.”
He handed me a large pasteboard card, of which the following is a copy:—
“Yes,” he went on, “dot's my name, and dot's my address. And when you come to New York you call on me there, and I'll treat you like a buyer. I'll show you around our establishment, and I'll give you a dinner by a restaurant, and I'll take you to the theayter, and then, if you want it, I'll get you a chop.”
“A chop?” I queried. “What is a chop?”
“What is a chop! Why, if you want to go into business, you got to get a chop, ain't you? A chop was an embloyment; and then there was chop-lots also.” At this I understood that he meant a job. “Yes, Bubby, a fine boy like you hadn't oughter be doing nodings all day long. You'd oughter go into business, and get rich. You're smart enough, and you got enerchy. I was in business already when I was ten years old, and I ain't no smarter as you, and I ain't got no more enerchy. Yes, Bubby, you take my advice: come down to New York, and I get you a chop, and you make your fortune, no mistake about it. And now, Bubby, I want to give you a little present to remember me by.”